Hobo Potter
by Marz1
Summary: The good news: I think I've managed to ditch Lestrange. The bad news: I still haven't figured out how to beg for spare change in Bulgarian.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. I don't claim to own Harry Potter. I don't have any money. Please don't sue me.

**Author's note:** Well, here's the sequel to The Basement. If you haven't read The Basement, this first chapter will be filled with confusion and spoilers. I suggest you go back to my profile page and read it first. Many people liked it. They liked it so much they sent me harassing emails. "Where is the sequel?" "You promised you'd write a sequel!" "I know where you live and I will get you if you don't start posting that sequel!" and so forth. So here it is, the sequel. Hopefully it will turn out at least half as good as the Basement. A.U. 4th year, with spoilers for book 4. Don't forget to review.

**Hobo Potter**

**By Marz**

**Chapter 1: What?**

I woke up with mashed potatoes in my nose.

Just so you know that's not normal, even for me.

"Harry! Oh dear! Harry! Harry, wake up!"

I was being shaken by several people while someone scrubbed at my face with a handkerchief.

"Harry, are you alright? Answer me, dear!"

"Ah-" I managed to say before I inhaled some potato and started strangling.

So then of course I was being shaken, scrubbed, and pounded on the back. It really isn't any wonder that it took me so long to figure out where I was.

The Weasley's, at the picnic table in the backyard, the night before the Quidditch World Cup, right, that was it. The night after the full moon.

I tried to tell the concerned collection of Weasleys that I was fine, but all that came out was a wheezing sound and a few more potatoes. The next time I pass out I am going to have to remember to fall backwards. Scratch that. Next time I won't stay up for a picnic dinner the night after the full moon. Of course that would look suspicious. Not that I wasn't already looking fairly suspicious.

Mr. Weasley, Ron, Fred and George had picked me up from the Dursley's that afternoon. I'd packed three days before, the moment I got the invitation to their house, so that wasn't a problem. The problem was I had barely stumbled back from Mrs. Figg's house by the time they arrived. After I'd stumbled out of her basement, I'd apparently slept through most of the day on her couch, under a pile of cats. She didn't even know I was still there until a cat dug its claws into my leg and I groaned, rolled off the couch, and landed on her knitting basket. I hadn't even had time to take a shower, so I smelled like cat and wet dog. At least the cat smell would throw off Fred and George. They knew something was going on that Ron and I hadn't told them, and really, what kind of self-respecting werewolf would go about smelling like cat?

I tried to act like everything was normal, but I couldn't get through even one sentence with out yawning or worse, trailing off because I forgot what I was talking about. Ron tried to cover for me, by telling them I was getting over the flu. All I'd been able to do was echo the word "flu" like some annoying parrot, like some annoying were-parrot.

"Harry, dear, I think perhaps we should take you to St. Mungo's," Mrs. Weasley said with inconvenient concern. "This is more serious then the flu."

"NO-hrk!" I managed to object as I cleared more potato from my airways.

The magic hospital was the last place I could go. Right on the sign-in form there was a box to check if you were lycanthropic. Failure to check the box was a mandatory year in Azkaban.

"Fine!" I declared between potato expulsions. "Really…hrk…fine!"

"He's fine, mum!" said Ron, who had apparently taken on the roll of annoying parrot.

"Yeah mum, he's fine," said Charlie Weasley.

I turned toward this unexpected source of help. Charlie was one of Ron's older brothers. He was an expert in magical creatures, and though he worked mainly with dragons, I was suddenly worried he'd recognized the hallmarks of another creature.

"He just needs some sleep," Charlie said, getting up from his seat.

He helped/dragged me off the bench.

"I'll make sure he gets up to bed alright," Charlie assured his mother.

"I don't know," Mrs. Weasley started to say.

"He'll be fine," Hermione said from behind George, at the other end of the long table. "He had the same thing last year during school. He'll be over it by tomorrow morning."

Charlie didn't give his mother time for more objections. He helped me into the house and up the narrow winding steps to the room I was sharing with Ron. I stumbled to the bed and pulled off the food-spattered jumper I was wearing. I was dropping toward the pillows when Charlie caught my arm, my left arm. He stood staring at the scars for several minutes. They didn't look much like a bite mark. The werewolf had been trying to rip my arm off at the time, so the flesh had just sort of shredded. I was planning to tell people it was a farming accident. Most wizards couldn't figure out which end was up with Muggle farming tools, so if I said I had a farming accident during my Muggle upbringing, who was going to argue with me?

But before I could tell him I'd stuck my arm in a grain thresher, Charlie asked "When were you bitten?"

"Last year," I said. "It was an accident."

Charlie frowned. "Does Dumbledore know?"

I nodded.

"But you're not registered," Charlie said. It wasn't a question.

I shook my head.

"We're going to have to talk about this," Charlie said. "But I won't bug you again until after the Cup. Do you need anything?"

"Just wanna' sleep," I said.

He nodded and closed the door after himself as he left.

I closed my eyes, and had a terrible dream.

Some nights I dream of running. I think it's the wolf in me that dreams that, crossing through fields and forests, running towards the cold smell of snow, running North, running so fast it feels like flying. It didn't take me long to realize this wasn't one of those dreams.

I dreamed I was going somewhere, going so fast that everything around me was a blur, but I didn't want to go. I wanted to dig in my feet and claw at the ground, anything to stop, to go the other way. Things began to slow down. I saw trees, statues, headstones. Suddenly I wasn't moving any more. The air smelled wrong, too dry, too sharp. This wasn't the air of England.

There was a mausoleum in front of me. It was cracked and ivy covered. The marble steps leading up to the door of the small square building were covered with snakes. Most were still. They had frozen to death, waiting on the thing inside. The door was open, but I made no move to enter. There was a faint orange glow coming from within, and the faint clank and swish of a cauldron being stirred.

Voices echoed out to me, familiar voices.

"-the ground. They won't know unless they dig up the grave and see it missing."

"You've done well," said a soft hissing voice.

"Thank you, Master," said Peter Pettigrew. "I live only to serve."

My hair stood up and I clenched my teeth over a growl.

"Yes," hissed the rat's Master. "That is why I let you live."

"The others are waiting," said a woman's voice. "When Malfoy pulls his little prank, we'll have the little brat. We'll have him begging and screaming. We'll cut out his tongue and gouge out his insolent eyes. We'll-"

"Don't get ahead of yourself, my dear," the hissing thing said. "I need him whole for the spell. Don't cut off anything that won't grow back."

"Of course, my Lord."

"And what of Black?" it hissed.

"N-nothing. Nothing yet my Lord. We will find him soon, though. I am certain."

"I will not tolerate failure, even from you, my dear," it hissed.

"Please, Master! Please, we will have him soon, too. Please-"

"Crucio!" it hissed.

My head felt as if it was exploding.

My scar burned.

My shoe hit me in the face.

"Wake up Harry!" Ron was shouting, as he picked up my other shoe and took aim. "We're going to miss our portkey!"

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhh….." I managed to say as I rolled over.

My head hurt. I rubbed at my forehead. The pain was fading, though. As I pulled on my clothes and got my head together, the dream was fading, as well. I'd probably just worked the pain in my head into my dream, like when you dream the phone is ringing and then wake up because it really is. As I stumbled down the steps I decided I'd just blame Ron. Being hit with a shoe was a perfectly innocuous reason for a headache after all. It wasn't anything to do with Voldemort, really. It was just a dream about a dead guy. Dreams can't really hurt you.


	2. Boxes and Cups

**Hobo Potter**

**By Marz**

**Chapter 2: Boxes and Cups**

Mrs. Weasley made us breakfast. I pretended to eat. The food smelled very good but Charlie had warned me that portkeys were not a stomach friendly method of travel. I looked across the table and saw Ron, Fred, and George were well into their fifth helping of sausages. I was concerned.

It was still dark when we started walking. Charlie, Bill, and Percy weren't coming until later because they could apparate. Ginny, Fred, George, and their dad were all very happy as they started off. Ron and Hermione were shooting me concerned looks. As we walked along the dark path behind Mr. Weasley, a feral kitten darted across our path. Something just occurred to me, and right then I didn't know who to feel sorry for.

"That looks rather like…" Hermione started to say.

"It does, doesn't it?" I replied conversationally.

**Interlude: Number 4 Privet Drive**

"I'm certain I heard something," Petunia Dursley hissed into her husband's ear.

Vernon Dursley attempted to roll away from her and tumbled over the side of the bed. There was a moment of almost complete silence, like that following a clap of thunder, and then he heard it too; giggling.

"It's coming from the wall!" Petunia hissed.

Vernon grabbed the side of the bed and heaved himself to his feet. He stepped into his slippers and carefully approached the wall. A picture of the Dursley family swayed slightly on its hanging. Vernon pressed his ear to the sheetrock. The giggling came again. It was definitely inside the wall. Vernon tapped it with his finger. Something tapped back.

"Do you think it's something of…his?" Petunia asked, near panic.

Vernon tapped again.

"Should we call him back? Make him take it away?" she asked.

"Those freaks will only make things worse," Vernon growled.

The giggling came again. It wasn't so loud really.

"We'll sleep with ear plugs in," he declared.

Petunia nodded solemnly. It took her several minutes to fetch them from the medicine cabinet in their bathroom. She had originally purchased them to block out her husband's snoring. They settled under the blankets again. The room was completely silent, but as the sun came up she could see the pictures swaying on the walls, as…whatever it was ran back and forth.

She twisted the blankets with her fists. Vernon was asleep already. If she complained to the wizards they would have to come and remove it. The boy would probably be in trouble for leaving it there too. She ground her teeth. That horrible thing was running around her perfect home like some horrible rodent. It might even be a rodent. She'd never even looked in the boy's trunk. He could have brought all sorts of horrible vermin in. She couldn't go back to sleep. Instead she pulled on her housecoat. If she got up now, she'd have time to mop the entire kitchen before making breakfast. Something else occurred to her then. If the boy wasn't around to feed the thing, it would probably starve to death in a few weeks anyway. She nodded to herself as she started towards the door, shaking the ear plugs loose. A foul vapor tickled the end of her nose, like something stuck on a burner in the oven.

"Vernon," she hissed. "What's that smell?"

"Smell!" called a giggling voice from inside the wall.

**End Interlude **

"Where's the Pooka?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"I guess he didn't feel like coming," I said.

We cut through the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, and started up Stoatshead Hill. I was starting to see red at the edge of everything. The Weasleys were all getting very far ahead of me, and I could hear Mr. Weasley muttering for us to hurry. Then I heard him shout a greeting to someone named Amos.

"Come on, Harry," Hermione said. "It's not that much further."

I nodded and it made my head spin.

"Everything alright down there?" called an unfamiliar voice.

I peered up at the tall figure coming down the hill. I recognized him then, Cedric Diggory, the captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. He came to a stop in front of Hermione and I, with one foot resting on rock and his fists propped against his waist. He seemed to be striking some sort of modeling pose.

"We're fine," Hermione said. "Harry's just not feeling very well. He's getting over the flu."

"Hurry up you lot!" called Mr. Weasley. "The Portkey leaves in forty seconds!"

"We're coming!" I called rather hoarsely.

I took a staggering step forward, directly into a rabbit hole, and fell on my face.

"Here, up you go!" Cedric said.

I thought he was just going to help me to my feet, but very suddenly I was getting a piggyback ride. I saw Hermione running along beside us looking far to amused. I'm fourteen for Merlin's sake, the only excuse I can properly have for requiring someone else to carry me is some sort of limb amputation. I tried to look unembarrassed as Cedric set be down in front of the Weasleys.

"We made it," Cedric declared, as he struck another pose.

"Thanks," I muttered.

"Trouble, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"No, sir."

I took a step toward the group, right into another rabbit hole. The ground rushed up and hit me.

"How many bloody rabbits can there be on one hill?" I growled, still face down in a clump of prickly grass.

"That's Harry Potter?" asked another unfamiliar voice.

There was far too much emphasis on the "That's" for my liking.

"Lay off Dad," commanded Cedric.

I got up under my own power this time and made it to the group, who were all standing with their hands on a boot so filthy it looked like something the Dursleys would make me wear. I put my hand on the boot too, hopping this was the portkey rather then some Quidditch good luck ritual.

There was a painless but intrusive sensation as something hooked through my guts, and then the world spun away in a blur. I thanked Charlie with every dry heave that I hadn't eaten breakfast. The ground rushed up and hit me again. This time I couldn't blame any rabbits. I heard grunts as the others landed. I got up just in time to see Mr. Weasley and Cedric's father land neatly on their feet.

"See you at work, Amos," Mr. Weasley said.

"Goodbye Arthur," the man replied.

He and Cedric wandered up another hill. I realized there were other wizards standing around as they shooed us away. Apparently another portkey was going to land there in the next minute. We scurried up another hill, finally coming to a little cabin. There was a man on the porch with the word "manager" stitched onto the pocket of his shirt. Mr. Weasley paid for a campsite, with a bit of help counting out muggle money from Hermione and me. The manager seemed to think we were from another country. I was a bit shocked when a wizard walked up to him and shouted "Obliviate!". The camp manger looked rather confused and wandered away. The wizard who had just erased the man's memory complained about nosy muggles before marching off after him. It seemed rather unwarranted to me. We continued over the hill to the camp.

The smells hit me in the face like a wet mop, clogging my nostrils and making my eyes water.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, forcing a handkerchief into my hands.

I pressed it over my face to stop the ooze. I didn't think anything was worse then Hogwarts, with its deodorant failure and unwashed socks, but I was wrong. 100,000 wizards camping was a whole other level of worse. I started to gag.

"Are you alright?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"Fine-urgh-sir," I said between convulsive swallows.

I didn't see much of the camp as we walked to the Weasley's reserved lot, but the smell told me what was what; fires, wet wood and those made from burning garbage were at the top of the list, followed by the assorted meals cooking over them, curry, cinnamon, fish soy, and more I couldn't yet name. The latrines were upwind. There were other things in the air too. Things I could only call magic.

I slumped down on the balding lawn and tried to focus looking at things rather then smelling them.

"Something wrong?" asked Fred and George in stereo.

I removed the handkerchief to respond and they both made unhappy faces.

"Thing' I'mb combing down with something," I said, pressing the handkerchief back as I felt snot running down onto my upper lip.

"Well we'll just go over there…"

"…incase its catching."

Hermione finally got the tents assembled. We all went inside. It reeked of cats. We all went outside.

"Maybe Cedric's dad hit you with a dribbling hex," Fred suggested, as we sat on the lawn.

"Don't be silly," Mr. Weasley said. "It's probably just pollen. Fred why don't you go fetch some water. We'll make tea. That'll fix you right up."

Fred and George returned an hour later with Bill, Charlie and Percy in tow. They had managed to loose the bucket they'd gone to fill.

"What's wrong with him?" Percy asked pointing at me. "Because if he's ill, I can't sit next to him. I can't afford to miss work."

I said "uh."

Charlie came over and waved his wand in my face. A moment later the world stopped stinking, and all I could smell was my own breath, which wasn't all that great, but it was vastly better then 100,000 campers using pit toilets.

"What spell was that?" I asked Charlie.

"Modified bubble charm. We use them when we're around dragons, to keep the smoke out. If you make it a bit stronger you can use it to breath under water. I'll show you how to cast one when we're back at the Burrow."

"Thanks," I said, though I thought I could repeat it myself already.

Ron, Hermione, and I wandered off shortly after that, when a couple of Mr. Weasley's coworkers stopped by to discuss the logistics of setting up the campsite. The bubble charm was starting to wear off, but I think I was getting used to the smells by then. As I was buying Omnioculars for the three of us at a gift shop, a man walked by. He didn't stand out in any particular way. His cloths were plain. He was clean shaven and his hair was a nondescript brown and neatly combed. I didn't know him but he seemed very familiar. Instinctively I sniffed the air, and the bubble charm gave way with a soft pop. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. The man was looking back at me now, sniffing the air as well. Our eyes met. _Werewolf._

The only other werewolf I had met was Professor Lupin, and I wasn't really sure what the proper social procedures were. I nodded. The man raised an eyebrow and nodded back, and then disappeared into the crowd.

"Who was that?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," I said.

Ron bought a Viktor Krum action figure. Apparently Krum was the best seeker in the world. Krum was also on the Bulgarian team, while Ron claimed to be cheering for their opponents, Ireland. I asked him if it was a conflict of interest, but he overdramatically put his nose in the air and declared that there was nothing wrong with appreciation talent.

We got back to the campsite just as the gongs started up. As one all the people in the came ground walked towards the stadium. Charlie asked me if I wanted a new bubble charm, but I turned it down. Either I was used to the smells, or I had run out of snot.

Mr. Weasley had seats in the top box. The up side was that the higher we went the clearer the air got. The down side was we had to get there by way several thousand stairs. I was breathing rather heavily as I stumbled into the heavily carpeted luxury box.

We filed into our seats in front of a very disturbed house elf, who appeared to be playing peek-a-boo. For a moment in thought it was Dobby, the mad elf who had stalked me throughout my second year of school. But as I continued to gasp for air I realized the elf was a she. She looked into the stadium and gave a startled shriek.

"Are you alright Miss?" I asked.

She peeked out of between her fingers. "Winky is fine sir. Winky does not like heights."

"But it's worth it for Quidditch right?" I said, trying to be friendly.

"Winky doesn't much like Quidditch, sir."

"Why'd you buy tickets then? I heard seats this high up cost a fortune."

"Winky did not buy tickets sir. Winky does not have money. Winky is watching Master's seat for him, until he gets here," Winky said pointing at the apparently chair behind me.

"That seat?" I asked pointing at the same chair.

The hair on the back of my neck was standing up again. My ears wanted to twitch, but they were too short. There were too many heart beats in the box, too many people breathing.

I probably should have been shrewder about it, but the words just came out of my mouth, "You know there's already somebody sitting there, right?"

Several things happened in the next half second. The elf lunged at the invisible man in the chair. I started to pull my wand and it was snatched from my finger tips. Arms appeared as an invisibility cloak dropped away. The half visible man in the chair dived at me. The elf was shouting. Most of the Weasleys were looking the other way as the Minister of Magic was entering the box at that very inconvenient moment. They were just turning toward me as my back side hit the safety railing and my attacker's momentum toppled us both over edge.

I'm not afraid of heights and for the most part free falling doesn't bother me either. Of course most of the time I have my broom somehow attached to me, so I can stop falling when the need strikes me. The cloak had slipped off of the man who had pushed me. He was pale and sickly with washed out blonde hair and overly wide eyes. He smiled at me and vanished with a wave of my wand. I kept falling, shocked faces blurring passed me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the ground getting very close. I wondered why, with 100,000 wizards in about four acres of space, nobody was indulging me with a levitation charm.

Then my arm popped out of the socket. I hadn't felt his hand on my wrist until the guy on the broom hit the breaks. Everything went dark for a second. An arm closed more securely around my waist, and we descended at a much more reasonable speed down to the pitch. I'd been caught with about fifteen feet to spare. My feet hit the grass and I collapsed on my knees suddenly nauseous. I guess my stomach had finally caught up with me.

"Are you alright?' asked a voice with an eastern European accent.

"Yes thanks," I said, looking back up at the box. I could see a few bright red dots, which I assumed were assorted Weasleys peering down at me.

"I saw you from our locker room," said my rescuer as he pulled me to my feet, and we looked each other in the face for the first time.

"You're Viktor Krum!" I said stupidly, as if he didn't know. Fortunately he was saying "You're Harry Potter!" at the same time, so I didn't feel so bad.

Then security was all around us. People were pushing us around and someone was tugging on my injured arm. A balding man was shouting in my face and cameras were going off. Krum was pushed off one way and I was pushed off in the other. People shouted at me all the way back to top box. I tried to shout back.

"I was pushed."

"He apparated away!"

"He didn't say anything!"

"I don't know him!"

Suddenly Kingsley Shacklebolt, an Auror I'd met the previous year was standing in front of me.

"Hurt?" he asked.

I pointed at my injured arm with the functional one. He waved his wand it popped back into the socket. I didn't even have time to yelp. Aurors were sweeping the top box for more hidden assassins. Winky was talking to the Aurors. Lucius Malfoy had ended up in the box somehow and was sneeringly answering questions as well. The chaos went on for another fifteen minutes. By the end the Aurors still couldn't figure out if the invisible nut job was after the Minister of Magic (Cornelius Fudge who is in charge of the magical government of England), the Minister of Bulgaria (who was coming in with Fudge, and has quite a few political enemies apparently), or me (who everyone likes to shoot at on general principle). Fudge kicked them all out and started off the match.

The match was rather sad. Apparently the only really good player for Bulgaria was Viktor Krum. Ireland was kicking the snot out of them, and despite a fight between the Leprechaun mascots the Irish brought and the Veela the Bulgarians brought, the game was over pretty quickly. Krum caught the snitch and ended the game with his team ten points behind. A lot of people jeered him for it, but it was obvious his team was never going to catch up. I don't think it was that big of a loss. The Quidditch cup was pretty hideous.

Strangely enough Fred and George had bet on that exact outcome with one of their dad's coworkers, Ludo Bagman. The jerk "accidentally" tried to pay them with vanishing Leprechaun gold instead of real Galleons, but I pointed his "mistake". Fred or George asked me how I knew. I couldn't very well say it smelled too magic, but my brain came up with something.

"It was way too clean to be real money. I remember the teacher telling us in primary school that most of the money in circulation has either cocaine or feces on it," I explained.

"What's cocaine?" asked Mr. Weasley, suddenly butting in.

"It's this white powdery stuff that muggles use to get high," I said nervously.

"Do they?" Mr. Weasley asked. "I thought they used arrow-planes. Do you know where I can buy some?"

"Uhhhh…."

Fortunately Hermione came in with an explanation before I accidentally sent Mr. Weasley off to score some coke.

The Aurors met up with us at the Weasley campsite, and asked us all the questions they had asked us in the top box again. Apparently they were leaning toward one of the Ministers being the target, since the assassin didn't shot me right when I sat down in front of him. That sort of made sense to me. I wanted that to be the reason I guess, so when they asked if I wanted them to post a guard outside the Weasley's tents, I said no. I really wish I hadn't.


	3. Slope

**Hobo Potter**

**By Marz**

**Chapter 3: Slope**

I dreamed of running again. Not running as a wolf, running as a plain old human. No shoes, no glasses. Running down an empty hillside, stepping on sharp things. Ears ringing like something has just blown up next to my head. Hearing my own breathing and something else slithering, hissing. My arms feeling sticky. The smell of blood.

I woke up to screams. They were far away, but my hair was standing up again. I reached for my wand, only to remember that it had been stolen.

"Ron! Mr. Weasley! Everybody! Get up!" I shouted.

There were lots of groans and mumbles. I pulled my jeans on over my pajamas and stomped my feet into my shoes. I made sure they were tight, just in case.

"Wake up!" I shouted again.

"What is it?" asked Charlie, the first one to regain some level of cognition.

"People are screaming," I said.

I turned my head as something exploded as well. "Over that way," I said pointing through the canvas wall of the tent. We could see light flashing through the fabric.

"Bill, Dad, Percy! Up!" Charlie roared with more volume then I could ever have managed.

The other Weasleys were up and shod by the time an Auror stuck his head through the flap in the tent and drafted the older Weasley's to help. As we stumbled outside, I heard a couple of Aurors talking as they rushed past our tent toward the flashing lights.

"- Death Eaters-"

"Lestrange or Black?"

"We don't know."

Mr. Weasley shook me and I saw Ron and Hermione hadstarted moving with the crowd and were waving for me to follow. Fred, George, and Ginny were disappearing into the woods behind the tents. I looked back over the campground. I could see the source of the screams and explosions. A phalanx of men in black robes and white skull masks were marching through the terrified mob, taking pot shots at them. Above the skull men four people were floating in the air, screaming and twisting as they were levitated against their will. Two of them were children. I could hear myself growling. I don't know what I would have done if Ron's dad had not grabbed me and shoved me into the river of fleeing campers.

"Harry, go with them!" Mr. Weasley ordered.

Thousands of people were streaming into the woods around us. The men in the skull masks were rapidly blocked from sight, though the noise still echoed about. I thought it was rather strange how muggles and wizards panic exactly the same way. Everyone's eyes were over wide and people were randomly screaming or shouting pointless questions. The people around me were shoving when there wasn't really any need for it. It's not as if there wasn't enough forest to go around. Shoes and other articles of clothing were dropped and left behind. I struggled to keep up with Hermione and Ron. I hate being the slow one. They had to stop and wait for me, and we lost sight of Ron's siblings.

We passed Draco Malfoy, a pest from school,as we ran. He was smirking about something but we didn't have time to stop and chat. Ron did spare him a gesture that clearly conveyed out sentiments. We walked until it got quiet. I could hear other panicked people running around, but they were getting further and further away from us. I leaned against a tree to catch my breath. The wind was picking up, carrying the smells of the camp towards us.

"Where-" Ron started to say.

I clamped a hand over his mouth, and sniffed the air. Over the panicked B.O. of the mob that had soaked into out clothes, I could smell something scared, male, and just a little bit rodent. In the same breath there were other smells; excited, human, and faintly rotten. It was the smell of people who hadn't been out in the sun in a very long time. The air swirled around me, and I turned my face into it.

Instinct said "stalk and attack".

Brain said "Run, idiot!"

"Pettigrew is upwind of us," I hissed. "He's coming this way. He's not alone."

Ron nodded and he and Hermione pulled out their wands. We started moving. Our last run in with Pettigrew hadn't turned out so well. We were attacked by Dementors. Sirius was nearly hung. I was tortured by a rat and bit by a werewolf. Hermione only got 8 out of 10 on the homework she did that night. We were all scarred.

I sniffed the air again. Sirius was out hunting Pettigrew, but I couldn't pick up even a hint of him on the night's wind. With thousands of people so near it was hard to tell how many were with Pettigrew and how many were just crossing his path. I tried to lead us around them and back to the camp but they cut us off every time we changed direction. After five minutes of stumbling through the dark, Pettigrew seemed just as near. Only the camp site seemed farther away. I could hear our pursuers now as well, hissing to each other as they rushed after us. I could hear a woman giggling.

"Keep running for another two minutes," I hissed to Ron and Hermione as we picked our way up the hill. "Then cut around and head back to the camp and find help."

"No way," Hermione and Ron gasped as one.

"They're after me," I hissed.

"And we're not going to let them get you!" Ron growled.

"You have to get Hermione out of here," I whispered, trying to appeal to his slightly chauvinistic and overprotective nature. Unfortunately she heard me.

"I can take care of myself!" she hissed just as a yellow light struck her in the back.

Ron and I scrambled to help her up. She didn't seem injured, other then having the breath knocked out of her. Behind her I could see black robed figures with white skull masks coming out of the trees. I looked over the crowd of goons. There were five men and the laughing woman, all of them tall. Pettigrew was either hiding further back in the forest, or he was wearing stilts. A red light came at us and I pushed the others out of its path. I snatched a rock off the ground and whipped it at one of the white masks.

"My eye!" a man bellowed.

Ron fired a curse at them and Hermione eventually found her wand as well. We'd only had three years of magical training though, and no practice over the summer.

"Come on little ones!" a woman cooed. "Play nice!"

Without a wand I wasn't much good, and I was running out of rocks to throw.

"Hermione," I called. "Cast Serpensortia!"

Several of the masked men laughed.

"Does little Potter think he can use the Dark Lord's curse?" the cooing woman taunted.

One of the masked men cast it and a huge cobra appeared on the ground in front of me. It reared up ready to strike.

"See those men over there?" I hissed to it in Parseltongue.

The snake stopped half way though a lunge and nodded.

"Kill them!" I ordered, pointing.

It turned and darted back towards the skull men. I heard them screaming but the snake was nearly invisible in the darkness. Hermione conjured a few serpents as well and I gave them the same instructions. I was already feeling guilty about it. The snakes would probably be hurt if not killed. The woman was now shrieking in outrage.

I looked over at Ron. Somehow he'd gotten twenty feet away from me. His wand was clutched so tight in his fist that the veins were standing out. He shook as he tried to look everywhere at once. Hermione was just beyond him, her brow furrowed as she tried to think of someway out of this. I patted down my pockets. All I had was a chocolate frog and a button that had come off of my shirt earlier that day. I side stepped another pot shot from the crazy woman. We weren't going to win this on our own, that much I could figure out. The Aurors in the camp were bound to notice all the curses flying around this forest eventually. I wasn't particularly good at stalling, but every second counts.

I took the chocolate frog out of my pocket, holding the box in one hand and the pull tab in the other, as if I was brandishing a grenade. For a moment the magical fire fight died out and everyone stared at me.

"Let them go or I activate this Portkey!" I shouted.

"Where would you get a Portkey?" called the woman, sounding very amused.

"The Aurors gave it to me after your pal knocked me out of the top box."

"Just go Harry!" Hermione shrieked.

One of the masked men took a step towards me, but I waved the packaged chocolate threateningly and he retreated.

"Go!" Ron hissed.

I don't know if they were trying to help me pull off the bluff or if they really thought I'd leave them.

"You didn't come all this way for nothing!" I called to the laughing woman.

She gave me a shrewd look through her skull mask, and made a gesture to the men behind her.

"Accio frog!" one of them called.

It was a very strong summoning charm, but I had a very good grip on the frog. I was yanked forward. Other instincts took over. My hands hit the ground and I pushed off with them, twisting so my feet hit the frog snatcher in the chest. He fell over backwards and I snatched his wand. I pointed it at the nearest goon and tried a stunning curse, but nothing happened. Not even a spark.

I leapt aside as red light came at me, scooping up a hand full of dirt as I went. I flung it in my attacker's face and rolled aside again. The blinded man stumbled into Hermione's stunner. I was turning again when a petrifying curse winged my arm. I whirled. The laughing woman was right next to me. I didn't think. I just leapt.

We hit the ground and rolled. I noticed how familiar she smelled, almost like Sirius. I hit her with my numb arm and she shrieked and clawed at my face. I grabbed her hair and pulled. Her foot got me in the gut and we tumbled apart. I came away with a fist full of her hair.

I risked a glance over my shoulder and saw Ron's wand had been snatched. He stood with his fists up as if he were preparing to box. Hermione's sleeves were smoking. It was just occurring to me how screwed we were when a bang echoes through the glade and a chain binding hex caught my legs and knocked them out of under me. The laughing woman was standing over me.

"Crucio!"

It was worse then before, much worse. It hurt. It was the definition of hurt. I think I might have wet myself but my nerves were so fried I wasn't sure.

"Stop!" one of the other goons was hissing. "They'll here him from the camp!"

As if on queue the air cracked as two wizards apparated in. It was Charlie Weasley and Auror I'd never met. For a moment things froze again. Then the laughing woman pointed her wand at Hermione, who must have been knocked down while I was being tortured, because she was sprawled out on the ground. She was struggling to stand.

"Reducto!" the laughing woman shouted.

Hermione's eyes widened in the red glare, and she started to bring up her hands. Suddenly Ron was in front of her. The light hit him and he flew back into her. The two of them tumbled back into the trees. I heard something crunch and it wasn't the foliage.

The Auror was trading shots with the masked men. The laughing woman was coming towards me. My eyes met Charlie's across the glade. I heard Hermione crying for help. Charlie's face was torn. I nodded toward Ron and Charlie turned his back on me. He wasn't my brother after all.

I kicked at the laughing woman with my chained legs, but she side stepped. From three feet away she hit me with a curse that knocked the air out of my lungs and the feeling out of everything below my neck.

"I have a real portkey, little boy," she said as she grabbed the chains around my feet.

She snapped a thing silver chain around her wrist and the world whirled away.


	4. The One That Almost Got Away

**Hobo Potter**

**By Marz**

**Chapter 4: The One That Almost Got Away**

I think it would be the understatement of the century to say that I was having a bad week. They gave up early today though. Probably because of the rain. Sure its fun to shove a bound prisoner face down in the mud and pretend you are going to suffocate him, but after a few hours the rain starts to freeze you too. Your nose starts to run, your teeth chatter, and all the blood sport in the world won't distract you. They staked me out in the center of the camp site, and went into their tents for tea.

At least the rain was freezing. My shirt was in shreds. It had been since the Cruciatus curse got boring. I lay there trying to curl up in a ball. I was waiting to go numb. I'd been waiting to go numb for the past four days. I'd been waiting for everything to stop, and wondering why I was still alive.

Lestrange, the laughing woman, told me she was going to kill me when she stopped having fun. I knew there was more to it though. Every day they'd pull up the stakes, chain me up and take a portkey to a new camp site. We were headed east, across the continent. I was dragged from field, to cavern, to barn. Tonight we were near the ocean, on the edge of a cliff. I could hear the waves crashing against it. They were wary of Aurors, but they weren't running away from them. They were taking me somewhere.

I looked over at the guard. The others called him MacConkey. I'd learned most of their names over that past few days. MacConkey wasn't really so bad as Death Eaters went. When he was on guard duty he'd walk by and kick me every once in a while, but he got bored with torture pretty quickly. The kicks seemed frustration more then anything else. At the moment he seemed to be asleep.

I looked at the stakes, sunk into the muddy ground. They'd used magic to sink them in. I'd tried to pull them up on previous nights without success. I reached out and gave the nearest one a tug. It wiggled, ever so slightly, like a loose tooth. I reached for the other one and it wiggled too. I looked up at the sky and blinked the water out of my eyes. One stake was hooked up the manacles that bound my wrists, the other to the ones that bound my ankles. Even if I got the stakes out I couldn't run for it. I could roll and crawl, like a worm through the mud. I probably wouldn't make it more then a hundred yards from the camp. I let my head rest on the soaked earth for a moment. I could feel the waves pounding the cliff. I reached out, grabbing the stake. I pulled. It came free.

I crawled, on elbows and knees. The rain kept coming, now with bits of hail in it. I couldn't see where I was going, but I could hear it. I heard shouting in the camp too. I ignored it. They were looking in the wrong direction. My hands stretched out over empty space. The cliff shook under the beating of an angry ocean. I rolled around and sat up, putting my chained feet over the edge. I looked down. My glasses had been gone for a while. I couldn't tell if it was water or a rocky beach below. At that point it didn't matter. I closed my eyes and leaned forward. I fell.

Salt water poured up my nose. I kicked and clawed but the chains wouldn't let me stretch out. I couldn't tread water. My feet hit the stony bottom and I pushed off. The current flipped me around. The water was uniformly dark, and I couldn't tell where the surface was. I'd been thinking a lot over the past week about how I was going to die. At that moment I was very certain I didn't want to drown. I swam as hard as I could, managing a lamed dog battle. I thought I was at the surface and opened my mouth only to have water pour in. I struggled and thrashed, finally breaking through the real surface. I coughed so hard I threw up, all the while flailing keep my head above it.

It was raining harder. Waves came up around me. Lightening flashed and I could see land for a moment, the dark cliffs moving rapidly away as the undertow pulled me out. My arms were burning and frozen at the same time. The weight of the chains was already dragging me back under. Something touched my hand and in my mind the word SHARK became very large. I had jumped into the ocean with a shredded and oozing back. I squinted. It wasn't a shark, not even an animal. It was a plastic bag.

The lightening flashed again and I saw the water around me was filled with bits of garbage. Thing stuck to my arms and face. Another wave dunked me and I was seeing red at the edge of my vision when I finally broke the surface again. Another bit of garbage bumped my arm. I grabbed it. It was a long cylinder, bumpy on the bottom with a cap at the top. There was another flash and I looked at the soda bottle. It still had the label on it. The letters were Russian or something but logo, the red and white half circles with the white line through the center, was straight from the grocery store down the street from the Dursleys. It was an empty two litter Pepsi bottle. With the cap in place it made a very nice float. Thank God not everyone buys into recycling. Another bottle floated by. I grabbed it, another Russian Pepsi, and beyond it, another. I swore then and there I would never buy another brand of soda. I wouldn't even buy water, nothing but Pepsi for the rest of my life. I would shower with Pepsi.With my arms full, I closed my eyes and let the water carry me.

Light was shining on my face. I hadn't really fallen asleep, but I had drifted off into a bit of a stupor. It was still night, and raining, but the waves had died down. There was a man standing a few feet way on the surface of the water. I saw dark clothes and a pale face. My heart stopped in my chest. I wouldn't let them take me back. I let go of the bottles.

The water closed over my head and I started to swim for it. A blunt hook caught me under the arm and dragged me to the surface. I shouted incoherently and kicked, but I couldn't get loose. Hands grabbed me and I was dragged out of the water. I fought harder and a very large person sat down on me. Unable to move I looked around.

Instead of being surrounded by Death Eaters, I was surrounded by men in drenched plastic ponchos. I was on the running board of a fairly large boat. The man sitting on me said something to me. I think he might have been speaking Italian.

"English?" I asked, not very able to breath.

He said something else in Italian. It sounded like a question. I hoped he was asking if he should get off me, so I nodded. He got up and pulled me to my feet. Other hands grabbed me and I was lifted on the deck of the boat. People were talking and pointing at me. I couldn't understand them, but apparently my chained wrists were very interesting. A blanket was wrapped around me and I was rather forcefully marched past a strange crane like machine into the cabin. It was crowded with gear and glowing sonar screens. I was shoved down in a corner. One of the men shined a flashlight in my face. He asked me questions but all I could say in reply was "English, I only speak English". He walked away and I fell asleep for a bit.

I woke up to a hand shaking my shoulder. The man who had sat on me was back. He held out a plastic cup full of dark liquid. It smelled like coffee. I don't like coffee but I gulped it down anyway. It was so caffeinated it made my arms shake. The man smiled and said something else. He walked off and came back a minute later with a Tupperware container of sludgy soup. I was gulping that down too, before he had even let go of it.

(Death Eaters aren't very responsible when it comes to feeing their prisoners. I'm sure not one of them owned a gold fish that lasted more then a day.)

The man laughed and patted me on the head. He wandered off, and this time came back with a huge set of bolt cutters. He tried to cut me loose, but the bolt cutters bent as he clamped them down on the links of the chain. They must have been magically reinforced. After about ten minutes he gave up with a shrug.

Anotherman, who I guessed was the captain, was yelling into a radio headset. After about half an hour of yelling, he waved me over and Mr. Soup helped me up.

"English? Hello?" said a voice with a distinct British accent.

"Thank God! My name is Harry Potter. I was kidnapped from a football game in Scotland four days ago. I want to go home!"

"Slow down son. My name is John Crisfield and I work with Interpol. Where in England are you from?"

I gave him the Dursley's address, but explained that they might not have reported me missing yet, since I was staying with my friends in Ottery St. Catchpole. I'd have told him to call my friends but the Weasleys didn't have a phone and I couldn't remember Hermione's number. He said he would look up my information, and by some miracle I was still on some muggle data base. I told them I'd been walking into the bathrooms outside the football game and someone had pushed me inside and slammed my head into the wall. I told them they had drugged me so I couldn't really say how I had ended up in the Tyrrhenian Sea. (Which is wherehe informed me I was.)

"Alright son, we're sending a naval vessel to get you out of those fishermen's hair. I'll meet you when you get to the docks with a few police officers, and then we'll work on getting you home."

"Thank you sir," I said, sounding like I was choking.

I fell asleep again for a while. I was shaken awake to see we had pulled in along side a much larger vessel. The fishermen helped me get into a weird little basket attached to a crane, which hauled me up onto the larger ship. I waved at the fishermen(as much as I was able with my wrists chained together) and yelled "thank you!" as I went up. The men who helped me out of the basket weren't British. I'm still not sure which navy they were from. At least a few of them spoke English though, because when they took the blanket off somebody said "Holy Mother of God!". They took me down to the doctor's office they had onboard the ship and I got to sit on an exam table. Some people came in and tried to cut the shackles off, but they didn't have any better luck then the fishermen. The doctor, (at least I think he was a doctor) gave me a couple of shots and started pouring stinging things on my back. He was muttering un-encouraging things, and at that moment I was glad I couldn't turn my head far enough to see it. He said something else and sort of patted my shoulder. I was about to ask what he meant when he pulled something out from between my shoulder blades. He said something that sounded rather satisfied and held the bloody object up for me to see. I was thinking it looked rather like a knitting needle as the room tilted and I fell off the table.

I woke up again as we were pulling into a bay. I managed to shuffle out onto the deck under my own power. The sun was coming up and I could see the shore in the distance. At least I could see a tan blur, above one blue blur and below another blue blur. I'm pretty sure that it was the shore. There were a few blinking red lights out there to, which I thought might be ambulances or police cars. The crew put me back in the basket and below me I saw another smaller boat. I guess the big ship I was on couldn't get very close to the shore. The basket started to drop and I let out a relieved breath.

I really shouldn't have.

Below me people were reaching out their arms to make sure the basket ended up on the deck and not in the water. One of them was waving.

"Hello Harry, I'm John Crisfield," a blurry man with a familiar voice said.

I leaned over the side of the basket and started to reply. Suddenly I felt like I was being caught in a very large person's fist. I was pulled out of the basket into the air and the boats sank away to tiny dots beneath me. I didn't look forward to landing.


	5. The evil Mr V

**Hobo Potter**

**By Marz**

**Chapter 5: The Evil Mr. V**

I tried very hard not to scream. It wasn't that much of a challenge, since there was a big goon sitting on my back so I couldn't get away, much less breathe. The smell was the worst part though, like over done bacon.

"Little Potter won't be running away on those," Lestrange declared, laughing, as she slapped the burned soles of my feet.

I considered mentioning that I hadn't run away, but crawled and swum, but I didn't want to think about what she'd burn to stop me from crawling. The goon got off me and I pull my feet against me and huddled over them. I was chained up again so I couldn't do much to protect my injured appendages. Still I think curling up in a ball was the best course of action. Curling up in a ball keeps you safe from psychotic sadists doesn't it? Or at least bears? I tired to look unafraid and large, but I was shaking and my nose was full of snot.

"Is little Potter crying?" she asked in a high voice.

I saw her hand coming towards me, and I knew she was going to grab me by my hair again. It wasn't the best idea, but it wasn't really an idea. My head snapped up and I caught her hand in my mouth. I bit down. I heard bones crack over her shrieking. She tried to pull away but I was too heavy and she was off balance. She dragged me around, yelling for the others to help her. Blood was running into my mouth and down my throat. With a final kick, she knocked me loose. Most of the ball of her thumb came away with me.

She kept on shrieking. The goon was coming back towards me. I growled and bared my teeth and he stopped short. A few of the other spectators were exchanging nervous glances.

"What the hell is going on out here?" demanded the Death Eater I'd named _Nails_, since he was always chewing on said extremities.

Other Death Eaters, who had been sleeping or on guard duty were wandering over. Lestrange shrieking was apparently such a regular occurrence it took a while for her fellow nut jobs to figure out that something was actually wrong. _Nails_ handed her a handkerchief to staunch the bleeding.

"That wasn't a very smart thing to do boy," said MacConkey threateningly.

I was getting very sick of their threats. Doesn't a threat require some chance that the implied bad outcome can be avoided by some action?

"Maybe you should feed me better," I said, grinning to show off my bloody teeth. "Then incidents like this wouldn't happen."

One of the Death Eaters started laughing. The others looked at him, but no one said anything about it.

Lestrange raised her wand and came at me. I knew she was planning to kill me. I thought I would be more afraid, but over the past few days the fear of it was sort of beaten out of me. It occurred to me, as the killing curse started to bubble out of her mouth, that my dying now might work out for the better in the long run. If Voldemort wanted me alive for something, I probably wouldn't want to be there. But even as I was thinking this, the wolf in me was crouching and bunching, preparing to charge to the end of the chains that held me. It wanted to bite her again, to fight and kill and live.

As the green light formed at the end of her wand, the Death Eater who had laughed grabbed her wrist and twisted her wand skyward. The curse flew upward, until it was just a sickly green star fading into the night.

"Our Lord wants him alive," the laughing man said.

Lestrange shrieked something incomprehensible at him, and stormed away.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Another night passed and we changed camps again. Everything was going pretty much the same though, torture followed by no food, followed by more torture. As a cloudy dawn came over the camp, something out of the ordinary did occur. The Death Eater who had laughed when I bit Lestrange, and stopped her from killing me, stopped by with breakfast.

He sat about ten feet away with a bowl of stew, staring at me. I stared back. The werewolf in me hates to back down from a staring contest. The Death Eater stirred the bowl slowly with his spoon, and helplessly my focus slid down to it. I hadn't had anything to eat or drink since I bit Bellatrix, and that wasn't exactly food. And if it was, it was probably junk food.

Slowly he took a big chunk of meat and stuffed it into his mouth. He licked the spoon and then his lips. He scooped out a carrot and looked at it for a long moment. He raised it towards his mouth, watching me watch him eat. Suddenly the gravy sodden vegetable was flying at me. I snatched it out of the air and stuffed it into my mouth so fast even I could barely track the motion of my hands. I didn't bother to chew.

He raised an eyebrow and scooped out another carrot. It was a wide toss, and I had to lunge for it, going out to the end of the chain that tethered me to the ground. I caught it though, and gobbled that down to. He kept tossing and I kept catching, until he seemed unable to find any more vegetables he was willing to part with. I stared at him again, hopping he'd be willing to throw a piece of meat, but he just ate the rest of the stew while I watched. I decided to call him Stew in my head, as I hadn't heard any of the other Death Eaters use his name.

"I don't want you to get the wrong impression about me," Stew said. "I'm not going to help you."

He got up and came a few steps closer, squatting down so he could look me in the eye. "I want to see them take you apart," he continued, his voice dropping to a throaty whisper. "It's fascinating to see what's inside another human being. I wasn't put in Azkaban for being a Death Eater, you know. I was arrested later, for my hobbies."

I could see his eyes, tracking every twitch I made. I could smell him. He wasn't uncontrolled fury and hate like the others. Violence was running through his veins and oozing out his skin, but he knew exactly what he was going to do with it.

"There are two of you in there," Stew said. "There's the thinking one and the one that tears and claws and wants to get out. I'd like to separate them, dig them both out of that wet red squirming creature they live in and make them look at each other." He leaned closer. "Wouldn't that be extraordinary?"

I stared at him. He was close enough for me to sink my teeth into. Our faces were less then a hand span apart. The wolf was shaking me, urging me to go for the throat. I held it down. Whatever this guy was planning he knew what I was capable of, but I didn't know him. Stew could be planning to drag me away from the other Death Eaters and dissect me. That wasn't exactly something to look forward to, but if that happened I might have a better chance of getting away. I wasn't really sure what I should say to a crazy person to encourage this sort of behavior, so I settled for saying something crazy myself.

"Not that extraordinary," I growled. "I already met him. His name's Odd Todd and he eats newspaper and glue if I don't watch him close enough."

Stew looked startled for a moment and began to laugh. Then he slapped me. It wasn't a particularly hard slap, it was friendly even, compared to what the other Death Eaters had done, but I think it scared me more. I had a very strong urge to drag the side of my face through the dirt to get rid of the crawling feeling his hand left behind. He turned and walked away. I wondered then, about the intelligence involved in trying to hit it off with the Death Eaters' self styling version of Hannibal Lector.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

That day went by more slowly then I expected. Usually someone would torture me into a stupor and the hours would blur by, but today all the Death Eaters were distracted. (Except for Stew, who now seemed to be sneaking glances at me every other minute.) I heard snatches of conversation from across the camp.

"-tonight, our Lord will reward us!"

"-sacrifice. He'll chose me-"

"-kill the brat himself-"

None of it was comforting, but it wasn't unexpected either. I tested the chains a few times, but they were much more solidly planted then they had been the day before. The stake didn't even budge when I pulled on it. As the sun set they gathered around me. They hadn't packed up the tents or anything else in the camp. Tonight was different. Tonight was the end of it.

Two of the goons grabbed my chains. The stake came loose for them and they dragged me over to the group. I was kicked a few times, but for the most part they were too distracted to put much effort into my discomfort. Another portkey was produced, and I was dragged through another whirling, nauseating vortex.

We landed in a graveyard, amidst headstones and more freaks in robes and skull masks. I thought it was all a bit hokey, but kept all related comments to myself. I wanted to avoid getting my face beat in until I had something profoundly insulting to say, not just some jab about theatrics and all things overdone.

"Do you have him?" called a high hissing voice.

I managed to lift my head enough to see the building I was being dragged towards. It was the mausoleum from my dream. Even the dead snakes on the steps were the same. Smoke and green glowing steam poured out of the slightly open door.

"We do, my Lord!" Lestrange crowed.

"Bring the blood!"

I was rolled over and saw Lestrange leaning down towards me with a knife in her hand. I tried to kick her away but my feet were too bound up, and a boot came down on my throat, making it even harder to insult or assault them. Lestrange stabbed me in the arm. I honestly didn't think I would notice it that much, since everything was hurting at that moment, but somehow that injury made itself known and my vision went a bit dark. Of course it was already completely blurry without my glasses, so I suppose that wasn't much of a loss.

"Get me a bowl!" Lestrange shrieked. "Quickly!"

Miss forethought apparent failed to consider some blood transportation issue. I guess she was brought a bowl because I was turned upside down and the upper part of my arm was squeezed. I was dropped again and Lestrange hurried away, up the steps into that little building. I heard things splashing, bubbling, and hissing. Whatever they were cooking I didn't think I wanted any.

There were gasps from those around me as the door of the mausoleum opened fully. A shadowy figure in black robes emerged from the tomb, and thirty or so Death Eaters dropped to their knees and groveled. I struggled to stand up. This of course drew his attention right to me.

"Ah…Mr. Potter…I was so hoping to see you here tonight," the figure hissed.

He came close enough for me to see then, within arms reach. Even without my glasses I could pick out his features; creepy red eyes, slit nostrils with no real nose, heavy brows, and mutton chops. This was "Lord Voldemort" I supposed. I couldn't see much in common with the teenager who'd regained life through a possessed book my second year of school, but I guess being dead and disembodied didn't do much for his complexion. He was close enough to smell too; sort a dry musty snake smell along with normal human B.O. and mothballs from the old robes he was wearing. Under that was something else though; something familiar, and more then a little ironic.

"New body?" I rasped. I was trying for mocking, but was too dehydrated.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, and it's thanks to you that I have it!" he said. "Ancient dark magic allowed me to regain my mortal body, the bones of my father, the flesh of my servant, and the blood of my enemy. You, Harry, were the final piece. It's thanks to you, really, that I've regained my power. And all I do now will be because of you."

I guess he was expecting me to feel horribly guilty about all the crazy crap he planned to pull now that he was up and walking again, but being eternally cursed and a dark creature had given me a bit of a wider perspective in matters of responsibility. Blaming the problems of the world on my existence wasn't going to fix things.

Lestrange staggered out of the mausoleum then, and I could smell blood (that wasn't mine for once) all over her.

"Our Lord has risen!" she shrieked, waving a stump where her right hand had previously been attached.

The hand I'd bitten was the one missing, and I was betting it had gone into the spell along with my blood. As if confirming my suspicions I heard one Death Eater whispering to another.

"I don't remember him being this hairy," he said.

I smiled faintly then. This of course wasn't what Voldemort expected, and he leaned in closer, red eyes boring into mine.

"Careful, My Lord!" one of the goons warned. "He bites."

I wanted to draw things out, with all kinds of drama and suspense, but I wasn't feeling that well. I decided to say things while I still had sensation in my face. It would be horrible if my last words were misinterpreted because of muddle mouth.

"I guess I should say welcome back," I said.

Now he was entirely suspicious and there was a crawling feeling in my mind.

"Oh, yeah," I added. "And I hope you like being a werewolf."

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**Author's Note:** Yeah. I know. I've been slacking.


End file.
